


let there be no doubt about it

by annejumps



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adult Eddie Kaspbrak, Adult Richie Tozier, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Bottom Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Established Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, M/M, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Top Eddie Kaspbrak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:34:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23129371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps
Summary: Along with a pang of guilt, he feels a swelling of love, seemingly right around his heart like the stories all say, at the thought of Eddie sitting here for hours lit only by his laptop, staying awake, worrying, fretting. Over him.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 9
Kudos: 296





	let there be no doubt about it

**Author's Note:**

> Title courtesy [Peter Gabriel](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OJWJE0x7T4Q).

Richie missed his flight from L.A. because of the fucking traffic, and had to wait for a much later flight, since most were full (it’s December, after all). He’s stumbling to his and Eddie’s apartment with his bag feeling as heavy as a fucking boulder, and he wants nothing more than to fall face forward into a bed. Preferably one Eddie is in, but at this point he’s not picky.

It’s dark in their apartment, and he assumes Eddie has gone to sleep—it’s four fucking a.m., after all, and in his text saying they were about to take off, he’d told Eddie not to wait up. Eddie is very into having a sleep regimen. Plus, he has to go to work tomorrow. Uh, today. 

Richie carefully sets down his bag in the living room and goes to take a shower, trying to be as quiet as possible so he won’t disturb Eddie, who wears special custom earplugs and sometimes a eye mask and who has an air filter that also serves as a white noise machine. So he’s probably good, but Richie is kind of like a bull in a china shop at the best of times and he’s so exhausted he’s not very coordinated. Still, he wants to wash off the grimy feeling of having been on a plane and in airports for hours, wants to rinse himself clean of it all before getting into their bed. Maybe Eddie’s rubbing off on him. Ha ha fucking ha.

He towels off, puts on his glasses and a white shirt and boxers he knows are clean because he put them on the hook behind the bathroom door straight out of the laundry despite Eddie fussing at him, and walks as quietly as he can to their bedroom.

Where Eddie is sitting up in bed in the dark, looking at his laptop and typing.

“Uh. Hey, babe,” Richie says, wincing at the rasp in the back of his throat, the tiredness in his own voice. He rubs the back of his neck, suddenly wishing he was wearing a jacket with pockets to stuff his hands in.

“Hi, asshole,” Eddie says, looking up from the laptop at him, relief and the remnants of worry in his big brown Kewpie doll eyes, a tightness around them. He raises a brow. “You’re only five hours late.” 

“I told you not to wait up. You've been awake this entire time?”

“Yup.” Looking back at his screen, Eddie pats the empty space in bed beside him. Richie’s designated space. The white sheets glow in the laptop light like a beacon drawing him in, irresistible. “C’mere. Saved you a spot.”

“I’m so fucking tired, dude,” Richie sighs, nearly collapsing onto the mattress, but he’s already feeling better: clean, dry, and exactly where he belongs.

“Well, it _is_ four o’clock in the morning, Richard. I told you when you should have left for the airport.”

Richie shifts and settles in against him, leaning his cheek on Eddie’s shoulder. “Yeah, I know. The Lyft driver went a weird way, I dunno, but he said all the options were backed up. I mean, it’s L-fucking-A.”

“I told you, you should use the car service they offer you.”

“I hate using that shit, I feel like an asshole.”

“Better feeling like an asshole than getting kidnapped by some rando.” Behind Eddie’s scolding he can sense the fine tremor of his fear. Eddie doesn’t like being hundreds of miles away from him, in case something does happen to him and he doesn’t know or can’t do anything about it. And he hates feeling that way, because it reminds him of how his mother was with him, overbearing to the point of psychosis, making Eddie think things were wrong with him when nothing was wrong at all, he’s perfect, pretty much, at least if you ask Richie. Still looking at his laptop, he adds, "You didn't text me when you landed," like he can't help it, and swallows. Richie watches a muscle tense in his jaw.

“I really thought you'd be asleep.” Richie stretches a little, and fights a jaw-splitting yawn. “Don’t you have to work tomorrow? I mean, today? Sorry, again, by the way.”

Eddie closes his laptop, and looks at him like what he’s about to say is fucking obvious, because it is. “I wanted to see you when you came in.” _Wanted to make sure you were okay_ goes unspoken. 

He should have realized Eddie wouldn’t have just gone to bed without knowing Richie had landed, was in a taxi, was at their door. He _knows_ Eddie, Eddie’s fussed after him in one way or another since they were kids; it’s just that the concept of Eddie’s looking after him is so much weightier these days, and he’s not fully used to it yet. Doesn’t accept that he deserves it, maybe. 

Along with a pang of guilt, he feels a swelling of love, seemingly right around his heart like the stories all say, at the thought of Eddie sitting here for hours lit only by his laptop, staying awake, worrying, fretting. Over him. 

He feels like a fucking heel.

“I'm sorry I’m late, and I’ll use the service next time.” He kisses Eddie’s temple.

“Hmph,” Eddie says, but Richie can sense him relaxing somewhat, and when he shifts his weight a bit more against Richie it feels like a gift. “I missed you. It’s been three days.” He sounds accusatory, and anyone would think he’s pissed were it not for the flush on his cheeks and the way he looks away before muttering, soft, “Sleep better with you, anyway.” 

Richie’s heart skips at that admission. “ _That_ —” he points at Eddie for emphasis— “has to be bullshit. You said I’m like having a giant snoring wildebeest in your bed kicking you in your sleep. You complained about how you had to upgrade your special earplugs for me. You told me you have a specific white noise setting for me.”

“This is all true.” Putting his laptop aside, Eddie sighs and leans against him more. “And yet I do sleep better. Maybe I’m getting more tolerant in my old age.”

Richie barks out a laugh, and breaks out the Maine accent. “Yah, that so, you old geezah?” 

“That’s right, old man.” Eddie turns to kiss him, all dimples and his big brown eyes disappearing in a broad grin, and oh boy it has been three fucking days too long, even if three days is a blink of an eye compared to how long he’d been waiting for Eddie.

Eddie moves to bridge himself over Richie as he kisses him; Richie immediately slides his arms around him. Warm, clean, wonderful-smelling Eddie, everything about him smelling and feeling like home. He’s _still_ not totally used to the fact that they both live here, alone together. He wonders if it’ll always feel stunning and unreal.

With a hum Richie slides his hands under Eddie’s shirt, wanting to touch his bare skin, and Eddie arches a little into it, inhaling a little shakily. Eddie is so tuned into him, and all Richie’s wanted since they were kids is for Richie’s focus to be 100% on him. Well, now it’s 200% on him and rising. 

Dreams really do come true.

Eddie lowers himself onto Richie, shifting down to kiss his jaw, the spot under his ear, and down his neck. Richie had been expecting leisurely making out at most, and the sudden shifting of gears makes his heart beat faster with hopefulness. “Not fuckin’ fair,” he croaks; his neck is his secret weakness. Damn it, why’d he ever let Eddie figure that out about his fucking neck? Eddie rocks his hips against Richie’s, hard in his obscenely tight and small boxer-briefs. Richie’s rapidly getting there himself. Maybe Richie’s dick is actually his weakness. “‘Ello, ‘ello, what’s all this then?”

Eddie huffs out a laugh. “Fuck, don’t do a dumb voice….” When he speaks again, rubbing down against Richie, his tone is… very different. “Rich. I want to fuck you,” Eddie murmurs, and nips at him.

All systems on fucking alert now, Richie gasps in pretend shock. “Edward Kaspbrak, it is four in the morning and I was just on a plane for like five hundred hours. I am appalled.”

Eddie laughs, soft. “You showered. You’re gonna keep me up this late waiting for your ass, I can at least get something out of it. What, you can’t handle it, old man?” Eddie works a hand between them and squeezes Richie’s hardening cock in his hot palm, through the thin fabric of his boxers. Richie sucks in a breath.

With a groan, he can’t help rocking up against the touch, the pressure. “I guess I could… manage. I mean, you do make some good points.”

“Mm hmm.” Eddie sits back, and tugs at Richie’s shirt. “C’mon, get this off.”

“Okay, all right.” Fumbling, Richie yanks his shirt off, distracted as he so often is by Eddie pulling his own off— “Jesus, Eds, you’re so hot, it’s so fucking unfair—” and lets himself fall back as Eddie, businesslike and determined with laser focus, gets Richie’s boxers off, and then his own. Eddie stretches to frown briefly over the impressive and well-researched selection of lube in their nightstand drawer. Richie groans. “Fucking come on, dude—Vaseline, WD-40, olive oil, I’m fine with whatever. Just fuck me.” 

He watches Eddie’s ears go red at that, the flush belying the stern look Eddie gives him. “Give me a fucking second, all right? You want this done properly or what?”

“You always do me properly, Eds.” Richie waggles his eyebrows and blows him a kiss, and Eddie rolls his eyes.

“Stop distracting me.” 

Finally having fucking selected something, Eddie pulls Richie’s legs on either side of his hips over his own, sitting on his heels. He slicks up his fingers, watching Richie’s face as he slides two fingers in, immediate and deep, all the way in right away the way he knows Richie likes. 

Richie’s jaw drops open and the back of his head smacks against the headboard. “Ow, shit. Oh God,” he moans as Eddie unerringly finds his prostate and and expertly, firmly, repeatedly presses it with the same energy he employs in jabbing the UP button in the elevator lobby. Except repeatedly jabbing the button doesn’t make the elevator come any faster. That doesn’t seem like it’ll be the case for Richie. “Jesus fucking Christ, Edward, oh God.” He closes his eyes and declares to the ceiling, “I’m seeing the secrets of the fucking universe.”

“Richie, I’ve barely even gotten started,” Eddie tells him. Sliding his fingers out, slow, he slicks himself up as Richie watches, super glad he still has his glasses on. Eddie’s methodical, and he’s not necessarily trying to be a tease, but he still knows that to Richie, that’s how it feels. And he might milk it. He can be a little smug, the asshole.

He finally lines up, and Richie locks his legs around Eddie’s narrow little snakehips. Eddie’s not especially gentle but he’s not painfully rough and it’s perfect, every time. Except when it's not perfect, and even then it's pretty fucking great, because Eddie is, after all, the love of his life. 

Eddie rolls his hips, and sinks all the way in. “Fuck,” Richie groans, feeling like the sound comes from deep in his chest. “Well, you can still get it up. You take a lot of Viagra before I got here? You didn’t take all of mine, didya?”

“Yeah, Richie, I took all of the Viagra we don't have and sat here with a hard-on doing work for hours, balancing my laptop on my dick, waiting for your late ass to get here so I could nail you.” Eddie twitches his hips for emphasis on the last two words.

“Worse ways to spend a couple hours,” Richie breathes. “I know how much you love making pivot tables in Excel. You might not even have needed Viagra— fuck—”

“C’mon, Rich.” Eddie shifts forward, reaching behind himself to smack Richie’s ankles. “Over my shoulders, come on.”

Richie immediately uncrosses his ankles and lets Eddie press his shoulders behind his knees. Eddie bends down to kiss him, pressing him back almost doubled on himself, and Richie’s heart is already pounding, he’s feeling like fire all over, his breathing’s starting to get out of control. He loves being bent back like this, being so totally opened for Eddie, but if he had to testify to that in court, he’d be pleading the Fifth. 

Eddie knows, though; he fucking knows what he wants. He goes for it, ruthless, hips like a piston. “Fuck,” Richie gasps out. “Oh, Eddie, fuck.” His dick is pulsing between them, painfully hard, flat against his stomach, leaking. He zones out a little, rocking to the damn rhythm.

“Not so much to say now, huh smartass?” Eddie pants between biting little kisses that steal his breath.

“Fuck… you… you little shit,” Richie gets out. He shudders, and presses back in the bed slightly to break the kiss. “Can I—” He blinks up at Eddie, who’s flushed a darker pink by now, and swallows.

Eddie nods, a quick jerk of his head. “Yeah, Rich, come on, let me see you,” he replies immediately, and Richie works his right hand between them and around his dick, inhaling sharply at finally getting the contact he’d been craving, stroking hard and fast as Eddie shifts back to lean on his hands and watch him. Eddie watching him, _seeing_ him, breaks him apart gloriously into little sparking pieces. 

Yeah, it’s been only three days, it’s been three whole long-ass days, and that’s all she wrote.

“Rich,” Eddie whispers as Richie starts to come, spurting on his stomach between them and all over his fingers. It’s the intimacy of the way he says it, so quiet as if he’s saying it to himself, like it’s a secret, and like everything he feels is in that one word, Richie’s name.

With Richie’s other hand going to the nape of Eddie’s neck, he drags Eddie back down to kiss him again, because he knows that’s what Eddie wants now. Kissing Richie when he’s all breathless and unable to string words together after Eddie makes him come gets his motor running like nothing else. 

The raspy fast breaths he can hear at the back of Eddie’s throat and the faster more desperate motions of his hips cue Richie to shift back, sliding his legs down Eddie’s arms and as he moves wrapping them around his hips again, tight, through his final frantic strokes. As much as he likes being spread like that, when Eddie comes he wants to be wrapped around him as tightly as possible. 

He folds his arms around Eddie’s shoulders, Eddie’s face buried in his neck, hot breaths on his skin. “Rich,” he gasps again, an urgency to it, almost a plea.

“I gotcha,” Richie murmurs back, rocking him through it, rubbing his hands up and down Eddie’s hot skin, almost greedy even as he’s reassuring. He wants to touch him everywhere, he never wants to let him go. Every time reminds him of the first time they had sex: there’d been some clumsiness, a lot of laughter, and some near injury, but Eddie from the start had shown him this same need, this borderline desperation, like Richie is water in the desert. Richie hopes he knows it’s the same for him.

Slowing, Eddie relaxes onto him, and he lets his vicelike grip on Eddie’s hips relax as their breathing slows. He kisses his temple again, and they’re quiet for a while, amazingly enough.

“Shit, Eds,” Richie finally says, sounding fucked out to his own ears, “I just showered and now you’ve got me all covered in semen. Inside and out.”

“You’re hardly ‘covered’ in semen,” Eddie says, shifting back to raise his brows at him and roll his eyes. Not too long ago, a remark like that would have sent Eddie into an OCD spiral, but after a lot of what would probably fall under the category of exposure therapy, Eddie not only doesn’t mind come jokes, he seems to legitimately enjoy fucking Richie without a condom, and if that isn’t a miracle.

“Hey, that sounds like a challenge to me.”

“Not at four a.m. it’s not.” Eddie drops a kiss to his lips, and pulls out, despite Richie attempting to lock him in with his crossed legs; he wriggles free. “You insatiable fucker,” he adds, fond, sitting back and kissing the inside of Richie’s knee.

A flash of old shame, of his appetites, of his needs, arcs through his mind. He clears his throat, briefly shaking his head to clear the thought away. Eddie loves him, Eddie likes how he is and gives him what he wants. “Closer to five now. I think you should call in sick. Call in old and decrepit.”

“I have a big fucking meeting I have to be there in person for, remember? Stay there,” he directs, like otherwise Richie’s going to get up and fucking do a tap-dance number around the room (although he kind of does feel like doing that right now, at least inside). Eddie gets up and puts his underwear and shirt back on, despite Richie’s booing and saying “Take it off... again.” “I’ll be right back.” 

“Can’t wait,” Richie calls after him. “I’ll be right here,” he adds in his E.T. voice.

“Jesus Christ, Richie, not fucking E.T. That’s your worst.”

“Ouuuchhhh,” Richie adds, in the E.T. voice. “It’s not _that_ bad.”

Eddie comes back from the bathroom with a damp washcloth, as always, and wipes off Richie’s stomach and right around his hole. As he does it, Eddie’s face is a little flushed and he’s biting his lip. 

“I swear you like fucking me just so you can clean me up afterward,” Richie comments, “you kinky little shit.” 

“Shut up,” Eddie says, and Richie laughs because Eddie gets redder. “C’mere.” Richie sits up, and winces. 

“You forgot to put down a towel, Edward,” he remarks with a leer. “You must have been really hot for me.” 

“Yeah, well, I was, asshole. Tomorrow’s sheet-washing day anyway.” Eddie kisses him, and then puts on his planning face. That’s got to mean something.

“You have to be up in like an hour. You’re not going to sleep now, are you? ”

“No, but you are.” Eddie hands him his shirt and boxers; Richie’s never liked sleeping naked. “You didn’t sleep on the plane, I know you—”

“I can never sleep on planes even if I want to, God knows I’ve basically tried to knock myself out with basically horse tranquilizer and shit—”

“—Yeah, and you’re going to now.” 

“Oh yeah, make me,” Richie yawns, pulling on his boxers. As he pulls on his shirt, he adds, “At least stay here with me instead of, like, getting on the treadmill or doing some work. Fuck all those guys, you can fucking _nap_ with me for like an hour.”

Eddie tilts his head, considering. “Fine,” he agrees. “Get under the covers.” Once they do, Richie wraps himself around Eddie, with a contented sigh, like a lovesick boa constrictor. Eddie scoffs, but there’s no heat in it. Without conviction, he says, “Don’t get any ideas, Richard. You said yourself I have to be up in an hour and you know I’ve got a big fucking meeting today.”

“I know,” Richie says, against the side of Eddie’s neck, feeling him get goosebumps. “I’m just trying to nap, here, okay? I just got home and it’s five in the morning and I’m worn out now because somebody decided the minute he saw me that it was sexy times.”

Eddie makes a noise of disgust, wriggling halfheartedly in Richie’s grasp and then squirming as Richie plants noisy kisses on his slightly sweaty neck. “Oh my God. Please don’t say ‘sexy times.’”

“Shut up, asshole—” an especially wet kiss— “I’m trying to sleep.”

Eddie calls in sick, after all.


End file.
